Missing Piece
by Alex W. Pendragon
Summary: Bucky is getting his memories back, slowly but surely, but there still seems to be something missing. This is how he finds that missing piece on a lazy day in the Avengers Tower, watching Steve draw. Stucky Steve/Bucky


When Bucky broke his conditioning it was because of Steve. He'd been unable to do it; unable to kill Captain America who was staring at him with wide blue eyes and telling him that he wouldn't fight back. The words had rung in his ears, "Till the end of the line." He didn't know why, he didn't understand who Steve Rogers was to him. All he knew was that the man obviously meant something to him.

For months after failing his mission he'd tried to remember. He realized, for the first time it seemed, that the fact he couldn't remember anything beyond being given orders and the cold of being wiped was not normal. Things started to come to him in flashes. The bad ones came first, killing people on the orders of his handlers. Some of them innocent but in Hydra's way, others not so innocent. When the good ones came they were few and far between. A run down apartment building reminding him of the flat he shared with Steve, who'd been his best friend. The sound of a car back firing bringing the war rushing back to him. He remembered Steve as a scrawny boy, sickly but proud and stubborn. He remembered Steve after the change, his body finally matching his attitude. All of his good memories seemed to revolve around that man, Steve Rogers.

When he finally gave in and let Steve catch up with him it wasn't because he remembered. It was because he _wanted_ to remember. Somehow the man was the center of his world as James "Bucky" Barnes and he figured that if he wanted to remember then Steve was the key.

It had been hard at first, but as time went on he remembered more and more.

Nightmares plagued him more nights than not and he found that didn't want to sleep. Sometimes he slipped back into the Winter Solider persona, sometimes by accident, but sometimes it was because it was the only thing he was sure about. Eventually he stopped slipping into the character as much, feeling comfortable in the skin of James Barnes. He still didn't feel like he was Bucky, though. It was like something was missing and he just couldn't figure out what it was.

A routine had formed after a while. Bucky had moved into Steve's spare bedroom in his suite in the Avenger's tower. Tony Stark, son of Howard Stark, had forgiven him for killing his parents while brainwashed and had even taken a look at his arm to make sure there was not going to be any negative repercussions for him to continue to use it without Hydra maintenance. The billionaire genius had even offered to make him a new one, to get the Hydra tech off of him. Bucky started running with Steve in the mornings and working out with him in the evenings. He didn't go on any missions with the team, but he was always there when they got back.

On days when the team didn't have a mission, the two of them would hang out. Sometimes they stayed in Steve's rooms and just sat around, chatting about the "good ol days" or sitting in silence while Steve drew and Bucky read or watched TV. Other days they kept company with the other Avengers. They'd watch movies or even occasionally play games. It had been tense at first, none of them sure what to do with the person who had been the Winter Solider, but things had relaxed after a while.

It had been on one of the days when they were hanging out in Steve's rooms that the change happened.

Bucky was sitting on the couch, legs spread out and relaxed as he flipped through channels on the television. There was nothing good on. There was nothing ever good on, and he really didn't know why he bothered anymore. Leaving it on a random channel that seemed to be documenting the process of making a match, he turned to look at Steve to ask him a question. Maybe they could get out, go for a walk or maybe go train early.

His question drew short when he saw Steve. The blond was curled up in his high backed, over stuffed chair. A drawing pad rested precariously on his knees and his fingers were smudged with coal from his pencils. His lower lip was caught between his teeth as he concentrated on what he was doing and Bucky couldn't help but wonder what the man was drawing. A memory tugged at the back of his head.

 _Steve was sitting in their run down apartment in Brooklyn, light from outside pouring in from the dusty cracked window onto the spot where Steve had dragged the chair. On his lap was a drawing pad and his hand was coated in coal from the work he was doing. Lip was caught between his teeth and Bucky had the urge to tug it out. It was always fascinating to watch Steve draw, seeing the man who seemed to constantly be moving with his pride and determination sit still and concentrate so fully on what he was doing._

 _Bucky itched to see what he was drawing. Would it be him again? He knew that he was one of Steve's favorite subjects to draw. They had drawers filled with scraps of papers covered in drawings of him asleep, or eating, or reading. Steve also liked drawing other thing he saw, though. The view outside their apartment through the dusty window, or scenes from the park when he'd felt up for a walk._

 _Unable to help himself, Bucky approached Steve quietly and sank to his knees in front of him. Lifting a hand, he gave into the urge to tug Steve's lip out from between his teeth, causing the slight man to look up at him with wide blue eyes. "You tempt me, Stevie. So pretty, sitting here like this...just makes me want to kiss you."_

Bucky blinked as the memory faded, his eyes considering Steve more now. The super soldier seemed to have felt his gaze on him as he looked up, blue eyes meeting dark ones. A smile tugged at Steve's lips, the corners of those baby blues crinkling slightly before they turned back onto the drawing.

 _Steve and Bucky were alone in the tent. The rest of the commandos had already gone to bed, weary from the fight they'd had with the enemy that day. Neither Bucky or Steve were tired, though the adrenaline rush that had been fueling them had long faded. Instead a feeling of need and relief had filled Bucky and he couldn't draw his eyes away from his friend._

 _It had been like every battle in the past since they'd joined the war. The enemy seemed to be drawn like a magnet to Steve and there had been many close calls where Bucky had been worried that he'd lose his best friend. They'd somehow managed to escape with only some minor cuts and scrapes, though the enemy hadn't been so lucky. The fear lingered still, making Bucky afraid that if he drew his eyes away from Steve that the blond would just up and disappear._

 _Blue eyes met dark ones and a smile tugged the corners of Steve's lips up despite the dire situation they were in, just outside enemy lines, in the thick of a world war and probably going to be another fire fight the next day._

 _He didn't even realize he was moving before Bucky found himself unexplainably close to Steve. Blue eyes, those amazing blue eyes, didn't register any surprise though. Soft, warm lips eagerly welcomed his, and those baby blues closed as breath passed between the two of them. Steve was practically breathing his name, the sound falling off his lips between heated kisses. Pulling back, Bucky cradled the firm masculine face in his hands delicately. "Stevie...my Stevie..."_

Bucky blinked as the present filtered back in. He'd never had those memories before...they were new and they were precious. He'd felt so much in those memories, his heart nearly full to bursting with all of the emotion. The soft emotions and the hard emotions. Fear...love...

"Steve," Bucky was speaking before he knew what he was doing, catching Steve's attention and pulling it away from whatever he was drawing. At the questioning look, he wanted to back down, to say something unrelated to the memories that had risen unbidden from the depths of his mind. But he couldn't forget again, those memories playing on loop in the back of his mind, urging him to ask, to reach out and rediscover. "We...Were we more than friends? Back then, before I was...lost. Before you were frozen. Did I have...Did I call you mine?"

Maybe he'd pushed too far, or maybe he'd said the wrong thing. Steve had frozen up, blue eyes wide and mouth slack as he just stared at Bucky. Suddenly Bucky wanted to swallow the words back up, to have never said them in the first place. He'd been right to hesitate, he obviously wasn't remembering correctly.

His panic must have shown on his face, because suddenly Steve was right there. His drawing pad thrown on the ground next to the chair and him kneeling on the ground between Bucky's legs. A warm hand reached up, hesitating only a moment before cupping Bucky's rough cheek, reminding him that he hadn't bothered to shave that morning. The surprise faded from blue eyes and warmth filled them, happiness that couldn't be faked even on the most trained actor.

"Yeah...yeah Buck. You were so possessive back then, if I'd have let you you'd have yelled it from the roof top of our apartment building. When the rumor had started that me and Peggy were a thing you nearly lost it...but that's all it was, a rumor." Steve's voice was soft, almost reverent as his fingers lightly stroked Bucky's cheek as if he was touching the most precious thing in the world.

Bucky couldn't help but furrow his brow, even as his flesh and blood hand lifted to rest against Steve's stilling the movement of the fingers as he leaned into the touch. He wasn't touched much when he was the Winter Soldier, except when his handlers were mad at him. Steve was always touching him now it seemed; a pat on the back, a half hug, or bumping of shoulders, things like that...never anything so sweet and tender as now. "Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you remind me?" It came out as an accusation that made Steve flinch.

"I was worried, Buck. If you didn't remember it...if you never were going to remember it, then I was going to push it. You've come such a long way, done so much from the moment you broke through the control that Hydra held on you. I couldn't risk driving you away."

Silence filled the room.

Steve still cared. Steve still wanted him around. Even though he'd killed so many people, even though he'd done so many horrible, horrible things in the name of Hydra, Steve still _wanted_ him.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Bucky moved forward. Maybe, just maybe, if he could feel the touch of Steve's lips again, feel the warmth that had flooded him in those memories, then maybe the empty feeling would go away.

The first brush of their lips was nothing more than a whisper, the barest of breath on each others lips. The next one was almost desperate, Bucky almost lunging forward as he smashed his lips against Steve's in a greedy kiss, as if he was trying to suck the very warm and soul from Steve and into himself. His metal hand lifted, knotting itself in the back of Steve's soft white shirt, drawing him impossibly closer while the flesh hand moved to grip his shoulder. Steve's hands moved to cup his neck, angling his head to draw the kiss deeper, sending warmth through him even as fingers tangled lightly in his shoulder length hair.

This...this was what he was missing. The missing piece of Bucky, the piece that had kept him from feeling whole. With the warmth of Steve's lips against his, the piece slid back into place, fitting itself just as surely as Bucky seemed to fit against Steve. Beautiful Steve, wonderful Steve.

Kisses dragged out, one turning into two then into multiple drugging, sluggish kisses before they parted, foreheads resting against each other. Breath puffed against each others lips. Bucky could still feel the warmth that had filled him, feel the tingle against the skin where Steve's lips had brushed and pressed and demanded. Yes...this was it. The missing piece had been there all along, he'd just had to remember that he could reach out and take it. That Steve was there...always there, forever there.

"Stevie...my Stevie..."


End file.
